Postal Part 2

Remember Harper Valley PTA? Well, THAT is the look in the eye of Doris and the eyes of Frank when I enter their turf these days.
Hey- I’m trying. Really I am. I go on my way to work, and clean it out, and I go at the end of the day sometimes, too. I’ve tried everything I know to make amends, but I’m beginning to see that the Frank and Doris duo carry a grudge with a vengeance.

I visited my minibox and heard some mystery shuffling behind the gremlin box door. When I turned the key, something turned it back. It took me a good 5 minutes to just open the darn thing. Then, when I pulled out the wad of junk mags, something pulled back. That’s when I heard the snickering. There’s nothing more insulting when you are trying to clean out your bonsai post office box, than hearing snickering in the shadows.

The next day, I didn’t have resistance to my unloading attempts, but the contents seemed endless. I no sooner had pulled out a chunk of mail and dropped it in my basket, than another one appeared. And wouldn’t you know that when I asked Frank for a bigger basket to carry it to work in, he just pouted out his bottom lip and said, “How sad for you”. I didn’t realize until I finally made my overloaded way to work, that most of the mail was not even ours. Thanks, Frank, you’re a real gem…..

Then when I went by one night, the security code had been changed on the after hours door so I couldn’t get in, but when I mentioned this to Mr. Frank N. Steiner, the next morning, he crossed his arms and said, “No spricken de dortch”. Yeah. Right.

One day, I got to the Post Office RIGHT at 4:57; I was surprised to find the the door already locked. Peering in the shaded glass window, I saw Doris climbing down a ladder that stood underneath the wall clock. Their clock said 5:01. Frank just shrugged at me. Hmph.
This morning was the worst, though. I came in early, and stopped by for my daily drudge- mail pickup attempt, and found by a serendipitous moment- my security code worked and the door opened. I cautiously walked in and tiptoed to my baby box. I bent down, opened it, and then was overcome with a wave of nervous wriggles. I had the distinct sense of being watched.

Slowly, I raised my eyes, shifted slightly left, and found myself looking straight up into the oversized pupils of a life size mail person named C. Battle. She stood over me, in a most cheerfully chilling manner. My mail flew out of my hands and I fell right down on my bottom. That’s when I saw the cardboard cut out support stand at her feet. Now who in their right mind would first, name a cheerful post person Battle? And what purpose does it serve to leave the Post Office in the overnight care of a cardboard cutout anyway? What were they thinking? Oh, woah is me. All I want to do is pick up my mail, oh woah.

Church Chick